


Permission

by glycerineclown



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Choking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Kink Negotiation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Subdrop, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-19 16:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glycerineclown/pseuds/glycerineclown
Summary: “Now you listen to me, Frank,” she says. “You’re gonna accept what I give you.”Or,Let's give Frank Castle some structure and stress relief and ride him to within an inch of his life!





	Permission

**Author's Note:**

> You'd think I'd be tired of post-The Punisher fic at this point. With little splashes of DDS3 Karen canon, but set between them.
> 
> This fic is tagged with choking because that's the easiest word for it. The choking is done to Frank during sex, it's not violent, and not even to the level of breathplay, if you were wondering. And fully consensual, obviously.
> 
> What the fuck am I doing.

 

A man starts following her when she gets off the train in Brooklyn. It’s not Frank.

She’s got her gun, but it’s still too early in the evening to consider just pulling it out on the sidewalk. Even after a couple of extraneous turns, he stays on her, some thirty feet behind. She’s lugging her laptop, and wearing heels.

At the next corner, Karen puts her hand out for an approaching taxi, and it stops.

She asks the driver to lock the door as soon as she gets inside, raises her middle finger against the glass of the window—the man on the sidewalk watches her ride away—and when the driver asks for a destination, it’s not home she wants to get to anymore.

She fumes in the back seat as they get on the Expressway and head north, into Queens. The cab was the best way out and she had taken it, it was the fucking smart move, but her heart’s still pounding in her chest. Some part of her is ashamed of running, furious at her own fear. Nothing had happened, but she’s still shaken up. She should be used to this by now.

She calls Frank from the cab, but he doesn’t pick up.

They get into the Long Island City neighborhood as the last of the sun is setting, as it’s starting to rain. It’s not so much that she needs to feel safe, it’s really not. The cab had acted as her airlock, she knows she’s fine.

She just hasn’t seen him in a while. She doesn’t want to go home to an empty apartment.

Frank’s street is dark. It’s an industrial area, and from inside the cab, she can hear the traffic on the overpass above them. The driver’s eyebrows about hit the roof when she confirms that this is where she wants to be dropped off, but he lets her out without any haranguing.

She smiles sweetly enough for another tenant to hold the door for her, too, and she takes the stairs and goes down the right hall from memory—his door’s at the end, on the right. She’s only been once before. Frank usually shows up at her place when he can.

There’s no answer when she knocks.

The lock on his apartment door is standard, and easy enough for her to pick. That’s not really a surprise to Karen. Anyone with enough gall and intent to break into the Punisher’s apartment could just smash through the door. Or shoot through it.

It’s the second time she’s taken a cab to his home and picked his locks. She’d been careful to leave no prints before, just held a primary-colored flashlight up to his life.

It’s nearly pitch dark when she enters the apartment. There’s a family next door, she can hear them talking through the wall, washing up from dinner. Karen turns on a lamp, takes off her shoes, and puts on some coffee.

The single window has bars on it, and a roll-down blackout shade. The linoleum flooring is cracked in a few places, but the place is clean enough, if a bit chilly. It was three in the afternoon when she was here last, and although it had struck her as lonely, the place hadn’t felt nearly as depressing as it does with everything in shadow.

There’s a sink in the room, but no toilet, no shower—the shared bathroom down the hall smells like bleach. She wonders how long Frank will be able to stand it, living here, if he’ll get to the point where he wants more. He’s always been good at compartmentalizing those sorts of inconveniences. Powering through.

It’s the kind of place where no one asks questions, and she knows that’s why he picked it. It’s also a place that will keep him right at the level of survival, and let him continue to stew.

He can afford more—she knows he can. He’s been able to for months.

She can’t get his radiator to kick in.

The last half of her mug gets cold while she’s transcribing notes from an interview, and she pours it out when she gets up to dig through the fridge for some dinner. By ten, Frank still isn’t back, and she’s curled up under the covers of his bed, writing up questions for an interview later in the week.

Karen sighs down at her wrinkled blouse and skirt, and is about to get up and go through his drawers when there’s heavy footsteps in the hall, and the rattle of a key in the lock.

Frank’s not the sort of man one should surprise. She braces for him to notice the lights on and come in with his gun raised, but Frank’s already closed the door behind him when he freezes, his body coiling up like he might hit the decks.

“It’s just me,” Karen says softly. She probably should have put a sock on the doorknob or something.

“Karen. You’re—you’re here,” he says, voice rough. “You all right?”

She nods, and gets up. “I called, but you didn’t—”

“Oh, shit, sorry ‘bout that,” Frank says, shrugging his backpack off. “I got a new burner the other day. I’ll get you the number.”

He tries to smile as she approaches him. The knuckles on Frank’s right hand are split and bruised purple. His trigger finger’s twitching.

She covers his hand with hers. “Are _you_ all right?”

Frank just nods, but it’s not convincing. His jaw’s clenched. He’s too pale for her liking.

Karen frowns at him, and rubs her thumb over his pulse. “I thought you were done for a while.”

All he can seem to offer her is a shrug. She’d forgotten about this part, the part where he’s dead on his feet, and not used to talking.

Frank looks over at the kitchenette. “You made coffee?”

“Not for you,” Karen says. “You need sleep, not caffeine. Why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll make you some toast.”

He blinks at her. “Huh?”

Karen sighs, and walks a few feet to his dresser, pulls out some sweats and a t-shirt, and clean boxers. When she turns around, he’s taken a step in her direction.

She presses the clothing into Frank’s hands. “I’m spending the night, Frank. You got a problem with that?”

He meets her eyes, and shakes his head.

“Go take a shower. You’ll feel better.”

“Okay. It’s, uh, shared, down the hall, so.”

Karen nods. “I figured that out.”

 

There are patches of water on Frank’s shirt when he gets back. Karen’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his clothes, her own laid out on a chair.

A plate of toast is lit up by his bedside lamp, next to a secondhand hardcover of _The Island of Dr. Moreau_. The strawberry jam’s shining red.

Frank sits down next to her, and picks up the plate. “Thanks, Karen.”

Karen smiles, and slides a hand over his back, up to the nape of his neck, digs her thumb into his warm skin. “You’re out of butter. And I ate some of your leftovers.”

He smiles as he chews, and knocks his shoulder against hers.

Karen lets go, and watches him eat in silence. His hair’s shaggy again, the beard long enough to have some shape.

“Somethin’ I should know about?” Frank asks, nodding in her direction.

Karen cocks her head right back. “Do we always have to have a _reason_ to see each other?”

He cracks another smile, but it’s short-lived, it gives way to his face.

“When’s the last time you had eight hours’ sleep, Frank?” she asks, softly.

As if in answer to her question, he shoves the last of the crust into his mouth, and gets up to put the plate in the sink.

Any uncertainty about whether they should share the bed go out the window—she’s never seen a man more in need of human contact in her life.

She’s propping up a pillow and scooting back toward the headboard when he returns. “C’mere,” she says, and lays down, beckoning to him with her hands.

“Okay,” he says, and approaches the bed cautiously. “What’re we doin’.”

“Snuggle with me.”

He puts a knee up onto the mattress. “It’s a tight fit.”

“I know.”

Frank slumps towards her, stretches out until his head is just off the pillow. Karen sneaks an arm up and around, and Frank smiles as he tucks himself against her shoulder, as he presses his forehead into her neck. 

She can feel his warm breath as clearly as she can hear it.

He slings an arm around her, and he hums as Karen cards her fingers into his hair, makes circles on his scalp.

“Am I too heavy?” he asks, into her skin, and Karen smiles.

“You’re fine, Frank.”

The ceiling is ugly, off-white popcorn, and Karen lets her eyes go out of focus as she holds him against her, curling one hand around the back of his neck.

Frank groans a little, and presses his nose into her jaw. “Goddamnit, Karen,” he says. “Better stop remindin’ me o’ shit that feels good or I’m gonna want it all the time.”

A grin spreads across her face, and Karen turns onto her side. He pulls back to look at her.

“You should have it,” Karen says, nodding. “The shit that feels good.”

Frank runs the backs of his fingers down her cheek—and for the split second before he shakes his head, Karen holds her breath, savoring it.

“Can’t get used to it,” Frank says.

“Bullshit, why—”

“You know why not. I’ll lose it.” He says it with the kind of resignation that makes her blood boil and her heart break.

Karen huffs. “Now you listen to me, Frank,” she says. “You’re gonna accept what I give you.”

Frank chuckles a little, but he nods. “Okay.”

She tips her face up to kiss his forehead, and he’s smiling softly when she meets his eyes again.

He curls closer to her after that, and she tangles her fingers back into his hair. His breathing evens out, his body goes limp.

She might be the only person alive that he’d let take care of him like this. It’s a big undertaking, but that’s never deterred her before, at least not where Frank is concerned.

He falls asleep in her arms, with the lights on.

 

The alarm on Karen’s phone wakes them both up in the morning. She has to twist out of their spoon to get it from the side table, and when she sits up at the edge of the bed, his fingertips brush down her arm.

Karen turns to look at him, and Frank smiles a little, rubbing his thumb into her skin.

“How many hours was that?” he asks.

She looks down at her phone for the time, and back at Frank. “’Bout seven. Respectable.” His hair’s a mess, and she reaches over to try and make it lie flat. “How do you feel?”

Frank leans into her touch. “Good, actually,” he says, pressing a kiss to her open palm. “Gonna let me have some coffee?”

Karen nods, and gets up.

He looks politely away and makes the coffee while she dresses, and then she disappears down the hall to the bathroom. Fixes her own hair with her fingers, swishes with water from the sink.

The apartment smells like French Roast when she gets back. Frank clears his throat as he brings her a cup.

“Not complaining, but what are you doing here?” he asks. “You didn’t just decide to drop by for a social call. And how did you even—did you pick the lock?”

Karen nods, looking down into her coffee. “Some jackass was following me on the sidewalk, so I hailed a cab. Ended up here.”

His head is cocked to the side when she looks up. “You didn’t say anything.”

“It wasn’t a problem anymore,” she says with a shrug. “Wanted to see you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Karen watches him smile at her, his eyes soft, his hair still disheveled from sleep despite her attempts to tame it. The t-shirt looks great on him, a little stretched-out around the neck, his arms bulging nicely beneath the sleeves.

They’ll probably have to have a talk about this. But not this morning.

“Anyway,” she says with a sigh, finally taking a sip of her coffee. “I’ve gotta go home and change, I’ve got a meeting at eleven.”

“Okay,” Frank says. “I could, uh, I could fry up some eggs real quick, if you want.”

He doesn’t want her to go—it’s clear on his face. Karen feels her mouth twist into a smile, and she steps forward, unable to deny him.

“That would be great, Frank.”

 

It takes him nearly a week to call her. He comes by with dinner, arrives at her front door holding a paper bag with the name ‘Pete’ scrawled across in Sharpie.

She’s a bit surprised that it took him so long.

He looks good, better than he had the last time she saw him. When she hugs him, he presses his face into her neck. His nose is cold, but he brought Thai food.

They sit down at her table with plates, catty-corner. He seems a little on edge while they eat. Not unhappy, but like he’s holding back. She’s never seen him quite like this—for all his bloodshed and survivor’s guilt, Frank has always been a straightforward communicator.

After a few minutes, he still hasn’t spit it out. Karen puts down her fork. “What’s on your mind, Frank?”

He looks up at her, and swallows hard. “It’s nothin’.”

Karen feels her lips pull up into a smirk, and she shakes her head at him. “Don’t give me that, Frank.”

There’s a pause, and then Frank huffs. “You, uh. You took charge the other night. And I—I needed it.”

Bingo. Reaching across the table, she slides her hand over Frank’s wrist. “I know you did.”

“How?”

“Because you _let_ me,” she says, and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You wanna do it again?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Frank nods, licking his lips. He turns his forearm under her hand, slides his own up her wrist, too.

“Okay,” Karen says. “Then, I need you to be completely honest with me about something else.”

Frank clears his throat, slides his plate down the table, out of the way of his elbows, but she can tell by his face that he’s listening, that she has his full attention—and he looks up at her again, after a moment, waiting for her to continue.

Karen leans in further. “What did you like about it?”

He shifts in his chair, rubs a fingertip between the veins in her forearm. “I—y’know, I go too long, and forget the way people live. How to exist with—” He cuts off, takes a breath. “It felt like I didn’t have to be vigilant. Because you had it handled.”

“You wouldn’t do that with just anyone,” she says. “Hand over control.”

Frank shakes his head, scrunches his nose up like the idea’s repulsive. “No.”

“If all you want is orders and contact, that’s okay, I can do that,” Karen says, soft. “But if you want more than that, I need you to tell me.”

He opens his mouth, but. Nothing comes out.

She’s going to have to make it easy for him. “I did that shit because I care about you, and I want you to take care of yourself. I would have done it no matter what. But you got off on it, didn’t you, at least a little bit. Doing what I say.”

After a long moment, slowly, Frank nods.

“I can’t hear you, Frank.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She studies him carefully, not sure how she feels about the honorific. When they first met, it was a holdover from his years as a Marine. It kept her at a distance while still showing respect.

It made his switch to using her first name feel incredibly intimate.

Karen lets go of him, then, and stands from the table, rounds the corner to Frank’s side, and leans on the edge, their thighs brushing. His hands twitch to his lap, and he sits back in his chair, wide-eyed, watching every move she makes, drinking her in.

“Did you want me to kiss you, the other night?” she asks.

Frank’s breath comes out of him in a _whoosh_. “Yes.”

With a little grin, she wets her lips. “What else did you want, Frank?”

“I dunno,” he says, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “More’n I deserve.”

Karen shakes her head at him, squinting a little. “I didn’t ask what you deserve. That’s for me to decide. I asked what you want.”

“Don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“You won’t,” Karen says, leaning in. “You might get what you want, if you tell me.”

“I guess, I uh,” Frank starts, rubbing his hands over his thighs. “I usually sleep in my boxers. Wanted to feel your hands on my skin.” He looks up at her, then, into her eyes. “Put my mouth on your tits. Make you come.”

The words are enough make her breath catch, but she covers it with a smile. “Good,” Karen says, honeyed. “Starting now, if you want something, you need to ask for it. That doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you. But I want you to tell me.”

Frank nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And drop the ma’am, Frank. I’m Karen, or Miss Page.”

He blinks. “Yes, Karen.”

“All right. Scoot your chair back.”

He does, and Karen stands up, and pivots to seat herself in his lap, and as his strong arms wrap around her, she smiles into his temple, presses her lips to his hairline.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, soft in the air between them.

She nods at him, and Frank lifts his chin up toward her lips, brings a hand to her face.

Karen kisses him sideways, and he opens his mouth, growing bolder as she digs her fingers into his hair. Karen pulls back, though, before he can slide his tongue into her mouth, and curls her hand around his bearded chin.

She can taste his panang curry. She looks back at the table, at Frank’s plate set aside.

“You finish your dinner, and maybe I’ll let you have dessert.”

Frank bites his lip on a grin. “Yes, Karen.”

She kisses the look off his face, and returns to her own seat, picking up her fork again, and taking a bite of her noodles like nothing had happened.

Frank slides his plate back over, and he finishes his dinner, a bit faster than Karen. He waits for her before he takes their plates to the sink. He washes them, puts them in the rack. Packs away the trash.

He’s picking it up quick, trying to impress her. She figures he wants something.

When Frank gets back to her, though, he reaches a hand out for hers, and takes a knee, clears his throat. “I, uh. I never asked if _you_ want this.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be offering it if I didn’t.”

“Okay. I just—” Frank sighs out of his nose, and slides his other hand over the back of hers.  “You’re my family now, Karen. I don’t want to ruin this, y’know?”

She nods at him, and squeezes his fingers. “You’re my family too, Frank.”

Frank smiles at her, chuckles a little bit—he might be fucking blushing. Sitting forward in her chair, Karen wraps her arms around him, and he holds her right back, just as tight.

They stay like that for most of a minute, Frank still on one knee in front of her, until Karen puts her lips to his ear. “You finished your dinner. What would you like to do?”

 

Karen zones out on the subway the next morning, thinking about the man who left her apartment as the sun was coming up, and almost misses her stop.

It was barely even a scene, what they did. It had to have been Frank’s first go at sex in years. She’d told him to strip, but beyond that, she’d just said yes to Frank’s asks, to undressing her, to feeling her hands on his body, to putting his mouth on her. She’d pushed Frank onto his back, and straddled his face, gripping the headboard in one hand and a fistful of his hair in the other.

He’d eaten her out with his eyes closed. Karen barely had to touch him after, before he was coming.

Not bad for a Monday night.

She probably went too easy on him, but they hadn’t discussed limits, and she wanted to see what he would choose to do. He loved touching her, she could tell by the way his eyes followed his own fingers.

Maybe next time she’ll restrain him, make the use of his hands a reward.

They should probably go through a checklist.

A text from Frank’s new number comes through while Karen’s in a coffee shop, waiting for a source to show. **_Thanks for last night._**

Karen grins down at the message—she can just imagine him thumbing out letters on his flip-phone like it’s 2006. **_I’m glad you had a good time_** , Karen replies. **_Come over tonight? I’ll be home from work around 5:30._**

**_I’ll pick up dinner._ **

She keeps smiling through the interview—the guy’s a local expert on property tax law, it’s not exciting, and he _must_ think that Karen’s either nuts or hitting on him.

It’s been so long since Karen’s had dopamine like this. She almost forgot what that felt like.

As far as kink goes, though, she can’t help but feel like a total amateur. A guy she dated in college liked to rub ice cubes on his nipples, but it was never something they _talked_ about.

She shouldn’t assume anything—she’ll fuck it up if she’s not careful.

When she gets home that afternoon, Karen opens her laptop and finds a BDSM survey that’ll do the job. It’s decently long, three pages of different kinks, but she’d much rather go through it on paper than try to talk about each one. Karen prints two copies.

There are plenty of things listed that she’d never touch—watersports, hoods, chastity devices, humiliation—but she wants to watch Frank’s face as he reads it. He might like having choices made for him, but she doesn’t actually expect his interests to be too far from vanilla. _Maybe_ cookies ‘n’ cream.

Some of the roleplaying scenarios on the list are a little too on-the-nose, too close to Frank’s personal history to be an effective escapist fantasy—interrogation, kidnapping, prison scenes.

She doesn’t think she’d be able to spit on Frank even if he wanted it.

And even if she was interested, she doesn’t think he’d trust anyone else enough to ever consider having a threesome.

Karen sets the table for two—it’s still a novelty after so long living by herself. She buzzes him into the building when he arrives, and opens the door when he knocks, hums into his kiss.

He’s trimmed his moustache.

“It’s spaghetti and meatballs,” Frank says, as he walks to the table, and puts down the food. “Figured I couldn’t go wrong with it until I figure out everything you like.”

Karen snorts, and opens the bag. “Funny you should mention that.”

The spaghetti is good. She’s had her fair share of it since living in New York, but never with such company. There’s a beet salad, too, a little warm after traveling with the spaghetti, and big enough to split.

Judging from the takeout boxes, it must not have come cheap.

The silence while they work through the food is easy. Frank eats like he’s hungry, even if the spaghetti isn’t particularly beard-friendly. She smiles at the sauce before he wipes it away, and Frank gets up to refill their waters.

When they’re done, and the plates are clean and in the rack, Karen goes over to her desk, and picks up the two copies of the survey, and the two pens she had laid on top.

She brings them back to the table, and motions for Frank to sit down again before placing one in front of him.

“For figuring out everything you like,” she says, with a tiny smirk. “I’ll get dinner next time.”

He glances over the first page, and then his eyes snap back to her. “Jesus Christ.” He picks up a pen.

It feels awfully formal, on paper like this, but it’s the kind of thing that should be. It’s not binding, it’s not a contract, it’s just an easy way to see what they both want, and what they definitely don’t.

He reads carefully, some of his answers coming right away, others taking more thought, leaving his brow furrowed and his head in his hand.

His pen hovers over ‘leather restraints’ before printing a 5, which the legend at the top defines as “Love it.” Frank looks up, catches her peeking, and smiles, making a show of hiding his answers behind his hand.

Somehow Karen expects him to not know all of the terms—she had to look up a few—but Frank goes through the pages without comment.

After about ten minutes, they trade.

Frank wants to be held down during sex, and to be given domestic chores. Maybe she can get him to fix the flickering light in her bathroom—her landlord’s been a real piece of shit lately.

He’s crossed out the roleplaying section entirely. He likes dirty talk, likes a hand around his neck, but no slapping, no suspension, no butt stuff. He’s fine with using traffic colors.

Karen wonders, briefly, if he ventured into any of this with Maria.

They’re interrupted before she can ask, though, and it’s probably for the best—Frank’s burner rings in his pocket, a generic Nokia tone that she hasn’t heard in a few years, and Frank takes it out, ending the call.

“Sorry about that,” he says, and leaves it on the table.

Karen taps her finger on the page. “Anything not on here, that you wanna talk about?”

He makes a face, and shrugs his shoulders. “I mean—the stuff on here could be fun if you’re into it, but. It only works because when we’re together, I—I feel like I can actually take a breath. Like I don’t have to think, y’know.”

Karen nods. “That’s a lot of trust, Frank.”

He ducks his head. “I mean it.”

“Frank, look at me,” she says, softly, and his chin jerks up. “I want to help you turn off. Watch you give up that control.”

“Anything you want, Karen. I’ll do it. It doesn’t have to be crazy. I promise I’m not hard to please.”

“You’re sweet,” she says, and touches his face. “You wanna make out on the couch?”

“Fuck yeah.”

The move to her sofa takes very little time. Frank lays down and reaches for her in the same movement, grinning up at her, and Karen hikes her skirt up around her waist and joins him, stretching out against his body and pulling up on an elbow.

It’s so high school—Karen can’t help a chuckle as she works a hand around to the back of his neck and goes for his mouth. Frank groans when she takes his lower lip between her teeth.

He’s sliding his hands over her back when his phone starts ringing again, from the kitchen table.

Karen pulls away with a small noise of displeasure. “Should you get that?” she asks. “Who’s calling you, Frank?”

Only so many people could have his number.

Frank closes his eyes, like he can’t look at her, as the ringing continues. “Curtis, probably.”

“What is it?” Karen cocks her head to the side, close to alarmed now. “Frank? Tell me.”

Frank sighs. “I, uh. I skipped group tonight.” He could have lied to her, made something up—but she can see from his face, that he knew she would hate this, and didn’t think she’d find out.

She does, though. She did. “When was it?”

“Started at four.”

Karen gets up on her knees, and then just stands from the couch so Frank can sit up. “Okay, look,” she says, stepping around his legs and sinking down next to him. “I can’t give you what Curtis can, Frank. It’s important that you go, it’s the most important thing.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “I just wanted to see you.”

She nods. “I know. But you don’t exactly have a busy schedule. What days of the week are the meetings?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays. Until six. It’s way out past Hempstead, though, and with rush hour, it’s—”

“I don’t care if it’s in fucking Rhode Island, Frank. Unless you think it’ll get you arrested, I expect you to go. Hear me?”

“Yes, Karen.”

“Do you understand why that’s important to me?”

Frank nods at his lap.

“Why do you think that’s important to me?”

“Because I won’t be able to move forward if I don’t process my shit.”

It’s a good enough answer that she doesn’t push him on it. But he does need some form of punishment, some reminder to hold up his end.

Karen sighs. “All right,” she says, gesturing to him with one finger. “Why don’t you, uh, take off that shirt and start doing push-ups.”

With a short nod, Frank stands from the couch and untucks his Henley from his jeans, strips out of it, leaves it on the other end of the couch. He finds a spot on the floor that’ll work, and looks up at her. “How many?”

Karen jerks her head to the side. “Move that coffee table first, so I can watch.”

He hops to, careful not to knock anything off the surface before he puts the table down against her bookcase. He turns around, and centers himself on the floor in front of her.

The movement is fluid as Frank gets down on his knuckles—he’s powerful and fucking gorgeous, and at her mercy.

They didn’t cover this, though.

“Is this okay with you?” Karen asks, softly. “What’s your color.”

Frank nods down at the floor. “Green.” He looks up at her, expectant. “You want me to count?”

Karen lets her eyes rake over his skin, and shakes her head. “You’ll go until I decide you’ve earned back the right to sleep in my bed tonight.”

Frank nods again, plants his toes, and sinks. He makes it look easy—the man can do reps, and clearly takes care of his body, at least in this regard.

It takes a long time for his elbows to start shaking. She waits for a full two minutes after that to finally let him up.

Frank spreads out like jelly next to her on the couch afterward, puts his head in her lap. She curls her fingers in his hair immediately, and smiles down at him.

“Oh, all right, fine,” Karen says, as if there was ever a chance that she’d have kept him from her bed. “You can stay.”

 

On Wednesday, she works late at the office, doing research for an article, Midland Circle-adjacent, again. It’s not leading anywhere particularly promising. At least, not yet.

It’s after midnight when she’s finally on her way home. On nights when he leaves before her, Ellison has taken to texting her about five hours later— ** _Go home, Karen_**.

She calls Frank when she gets down to the sidewalk, because she knows all she’s interrupting is classic literature. He’s switching back and forth between _War and Peace_ and _Things Fall Apart_ this week.

He walks her home over the phone.

 

On Thursday night, Frank sends her a picture of Curtis, standing in a parking lot with a brick building in the background. He’s wearing a tie.

The photo must have been taken outside the church—it’s just after six when she receives it.

Frank had introduced them on a Saturday back in January. Curtis had insisted, it sounded like—he had them over for dinner. Karen would never get tired of watching Frank interact with other people, to have a history with them that was positive.

There were several off-white patches on his walls that could only be covering bullet holes.

She drank too much that night—she had always known how to do that. Curt had broken out the good liquor, but when Frank stuck to beer, Curt didn’t pour himself more than a couple of glasses.

She got a lot of good stories out of Curtis, though, and they were neck-and-neck through a game of Scrabble that never got finished. Frank kept getting stuck with too many vowels, and his best word ended up being CORDIAL.

Karen added an LY to the end and nabbed the Triple Word Score.

She receives a text a few minutes later that reads, **_Curt says he owes us a rematch._**

 

When Karen gets home on Friday night, Frank’s jacket is slung over a chair, clear as a flag waving—he’s here. She puts down her bag, and strips off her coat. They hadn’t nailed down a time when they’d talked during her lunch break. She wasn’t sure how long her interviews would run. He could pick locks too, no doubt.

Frank’s on his knees when she enters the bedroom. His shirt’s off. He’s waiting for her.

“Holy shit,” she says, from the doorway.

He looks up, his eyes darting around. “Too much?” he says, softly. “Fuck, I’m—”

“No, no, Frank,” she says, stepping forward, until she’s right in his space, until she can run her fingers down his cheek. “I was just surprised.”

He looks up at her, leans into her touch, and Karen watches his mouth fall open as she drags her thumb across his lips. It’s like he’s searching for something.

“Hands behind your back, Frank.”

She watches his muscles flex as he obeys her, one hand gripping the opposite wrist.

Stepping behind him, Karen bends to wrap her arms around his neck, to speak into his ear. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you Frank.”

Frank’s breath shakes a little as he nods. “Yes, Karen.”

“That’s right,” Karen says, sliding her hand around the front of his throat, until Frank tilts his head back, as far as it’ll go.

He wants to belong to someone.

Karen kisses his temple before straightening up.

“I’ve got a job for you tonight,” Karen says, and steps his line of vision again, pulling her blouse over her head. She lets it drop from her fingertips to the floor. “I’m going to ride you. How’s that sound?”

His mouth curls into a smile. “Great, Karen.”

“You don’t get to touch me until after I come, and you don’t get to come until I say.”

He nods. “Yes, Karen.”

“Stand up.”

Hands still behind his back, Frank gets to his feet. He’s a little slower than she expects—Karen has to wonder how long he’s been on his knees.

His legs are spread apart where he stands, barefoot, shoulders back. At ease. Raised scars litter his chest and arms. She’s still not used to seeing them up close, when she steps forward to run her fingers over his skin.

She can see the hard line of his cock through his pants.

Frank’s eyes flutter shut as she drags a hand down to his stomach. Her fingertips open his leather belt, and undo the button. Instead of dragging the zipper down, though, she slides her fingers over it, digging the heel of her hand in, over the rough fabric.

He lets out a gasp, and Karen smiles, watching his face as she pulls down the zipper and slides her hand into Frank’s underwear. Hot skin meets her first, and wiry hair, and then he’s thick and heavy in her hand.

With her other, Karen stretches the waistband of his boxers down until they’re tucked beneath his balls, and fuck—

She lets go of him to admire the way he’s curved up toward her, flushed red.

“Fuck, Frank,” she says, and isn’t sure what to follow it up with. She steps back then, and licks her lips, before nodding toward the bed. “You can use your hands, now. Lose the pants and underwear, and get on your back. Middle of the bed.”

Frank strips, and leaves his clothing crumpled on the floor. Her bed wasn’t made when she left this morning, and she watches him get comfortable on her sheets, watches him wrap a hand around his cock, pulling down his foreskin until the head’s out.

Karen tuts at him as she rounds the side of the bed. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, Frank.”

His hands snap down to grip the sheets. “Sorry, Karen.”

She can’t help the grin that crosses her face, and she bends to open her nightstand drawer, and pulls a condom from a box. He’s pressing his lips together, like he’s trying to hold back—but this time, it’s excitement.

She’ll have to try a little harder to steel herself. Karen clears her throat, and flicks the condom down next to Frank, before bringing her hands to her fly, and dragging her jeans and panties to her ankles. She kicks out of them both.

His eyes are on her as she picks up a hair band from her side table, and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Her hands are shaking a little, she’s not as dexterous as she wants to be.

Karen climbs onto the mattress after him, and straddles his waist. Frank’s arms are spread away from her, chest heaving.

She’s still in her bra. She’s leaving her own leaking wetness on his skin, and can’t make herself care.

“You were listening when I gave you the rules. Repeat them for me.”

Frank nods. “I’m not allowed to touch you until after you come, and I’m not allowed to come without permission.”

“Very good, Frank.”

He bites his lip until it turns white under his teeth. It’s a tell, somehow, she thinks—a happy one.

She trails her hands down each of his arms then, before wrapping around his wrists, and leaning down to kiss him. Before he can do more than open his mouth, though, she tightens her grip and brings his hands up above his head. Frank’s eyes are wide, watching her, as his breathing quickens.

With all of her weight, she presses his wrists down hard against the mattress. Karen smiles. “Can you keep your hands up there for me, or do I need to get a belt and tie them for you?”

“I—I’ll be good,” Frank says, nodding. “I’ll keep them there.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Karen says, and releases him, watches him grip his opposite wrist with one hand, like he had before.

She gets up on her knees and walks back a little, until she can reach between her thighs to grasp his cock. Karen hums as she twists her wrist, watching a bead of precome emerge from the tip.

She looks up at him. “That for me?”

“Yes, Karen,” Frank says, letting out a shuddering breath. “All—all for you.”

With a smile, she lets go of him to slide her fingers over her clit.

It’s been a while, probably a couple years, since Karen’s had a man push into her. She’s been too busy and paranoid for this shit. She’ll be tight, no matter how wet she is for him. She circles her entrance a few times before sinking a finger inside, and then two.

Frank’s watching her curl them, his mouth hanging open, his fists clenching.

“God damn,” Frank whispers.

“See something you like?”  

“Yes, Karen.”

She could wrap her hand around him, let her juices slick him up, but when she pulls her hand away, she reaches for his face instead. It was the right call, because Frank sucks her middle and ring fingers into his mouth without a word, and hums around them, swirling his tongue.

When Karen reaches down again, it’s to rip open the condom, and roll it down.

At first, she just rubs herself on him—the blunt head of his hard cock feels so good against her clit, and she wants to tease him anyway. But after a minute Karen lifts her hips, lines him up, and sinks down, stretching around him slow, all the way down to the root.

The burn of it takes time to fade, but she just closes her eyes and rolls her hips into it.

“Fu-uuck,” Frank says, under his breath, drawn-out.

She opens her eyes to look at him, lets her hands brace on Frank’s chest. When he bucks his hips, Karen grins, balancing her weight. “Is that what you want, Frank?”

With a deep groan, Frank bares his neck. “Please.”

Karen swings her hips up and grinds down on him again. “Might need you to be more specific.”

Between the edge of the mattress and the headboard, Frank’s fists are still clenched tight, like keeping them there is hard work. “Please move, Karen.”

She decides to take pity on him—she could play dumb, keep it going—but she adjusts her knees again before lifting up, and easing down slow. And then she does it again.

“What do you say, Frank?”

“Thank you, Karen.”

She goes faster then, starts up a rhythm that leaves their skins smacking together. Leaves Frank with a look of desperation on his face.  

The thick drag of his cock is a little overwhelming, even though she’s the one in control—Karen bounces her ass against the top of his thighs like Morse code, chasing the feeling. The curve of his dick is hitting her just right like this, and Frank’s breathing faster under her hands.

“Karen, you gotta—please, I’m gonna come before you if y’keep—”

Slowing down to a grind, Karen shushes him gently. “You’re all right, Frank.”

Frank nods at her, and his hands relax.

With the stillness, now, though, she can feel how well he fits inside her—she’s so full, and so wet around him. If Frank and her knees would let her, she might stay like this for the foreseeable future.

Karen reaches down to touch herself, and looks back at him. “How’s that feel, Frank.”

He smiles, and thrusts up. “Soul might leave my body.”

Not too far gone to make jokes, then.

As she taps at her clit, Karen swings her hips up again, and slams back down. She rotates her hips to the side with the next thrust, makes him hit her at a new angle, and Karen moans, and clenches around him.

Frank turns his face away, tucks it into his arm, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again.

“Don’t you want to watch, Frank,” Karen says. “I’m gonna come for you.”

Frank grits his teeth as he looks up at her. “Yes, Karen.”

He’s meeting her smaller thrusts as much as he can, but Karen’s lost the cadence for the most part, too busy circling her clit. She’s sprinting towards climax now—she could slow down, drag it out some more, but Frank doesn’t look like he could take that.

“Almost there, Frank.” The words leave her mouth ragged, like they hurt to say.

Right as his cock drags over her spot, she hits the edge of her clit just right, and she’s gone—Karen leans down toward him as she starts to come, her mouth wide open, the tip of her ponytail dragging on Frank’s chest.

His arms wrap around her after that. He could have waited for her say-so, but he didn’t break any rules, and she won’t challenge him on it right after a great orgasm.

She stays like that until she’s finished pulsing around him.

Frank kisses the top of her head. It’s the only part of her his mouth can reach, until she sits up, heaving a great sigh.

“Holy fucking shit,” Karen says, digging a hand into her hair, messing up her ponytail.

Frank’s hands settle around her waist. “Y’got that right.”

Smiling, she leans down again, and kisses him hard. He returns it with too much precision. He’s not nearly fucked-out enough yet.

She smiles down at him when she’s upright once more, and reaches back to take off her bra. “I know what you like,” Karen says, as she brings it down her arms and tosses it aside.

Frank’s eyes zero in, and he starts to lean up toward her, but she pins him down.

“Good boys get to choose,” Karen says, raising an eyebrow at him. “How do you want to come, Frank.”

Frank closes his eyes, takes a breath, and opens them. His reply is barely above a whisper. “With your hands on my throat.”

Karen’s mouth curls up into a smirk. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

When he speaks this time, he’s louder. “With your hands around my throat.”

Clearly he’d liked the taste she’d given him earlier, when his pants were still on. She slides one hand up from his chest, and spreads it under his jawline—she feels it when Frank groans, low in his throat, and swallows under her light pressure.

He didn’t say, “I want to be choked.” And even if he had, she wouldn’t trust him to tap out on this, not with her. He would probably let her use every bit of her strength, but it’s his compliance that she’s interested in.

It’s the blissed-out look that she wants to get from him.

“You wanna feel owned, don’t you, Frank.”

“Yes, Karen.”

She’s on top, though—she’ll have to be very careful with gravity and her body weight, if she wants to stay in control of her hands. “Show me how to do it without hurting you, then. I don’t care if that’s not important to you. It’s important to me.”

Frank hums, and she feels that too. “Yes, Karen. There’s a couple ways.” He brings his hands up, slides them over her wrists. “May I?”

She nods, and lifts her other hand from his chest when he tugs gently.

“If you want to keep this hand here,” he starts, tapping the hand she has feather-light around his throat, “then you want this one back here.” Frank pulls her other hand over his shoulder, right next to his head. “Spread it flat, keep your weight there.”

She tries it, and has to lean toward him a little more to get it right, but she smiles down at him, and nods.

“The other way’s like this,” Frank says, and she sits up, letting go of him until he slides his fingers over her wrists again, and guides her to his collarbone. “If you keep the heels of your hands on my chest, here, you can put your weight on the bone, and press in with your thumbs.”

That seems too easy to mess up, though—she’ll go with the first one. Karen nods again, and pulls away, sits back on his cock. She won’t give it to him right away.

Fuck, even the way he _explains_ things to her is attractive—and men are rarely attractive when they’re trying to teach Karen anything. It probably has a lot to do with Karen _asking_ for the information, but it still kills her that a man as deadly as Frank Castle can be soft and pliant and sweet for her.

“You’ve been an awfully good boy for me tonight. Following directions. Letting me use you for my own pleasure.”

He nods. “Thank you, Karen.”

“Tell me, Frank,” Karen says, lifting her hips again, and clenching down as she sinks. “Who do you belong to?”

Frank licks his lips, his hands sliding up and down her thighs. “You, Karen.”

He’s still too lucid for her liking—she wants him barely holding on.

She leans in, and when there’s still an inch between their lips, she braces one hand next to his head, and wraps the other around his throat. She puts her mouth to his ear, her forehead to his temple, and digs in against his pulse with her thumb. “That’s fuckin’ right.”

Frank _shivers_.

Her grip on him and the sheets give her just enough leverage to grind on him, and his hips move with her, his mouth opening under hers like he would take anything she offered. It’s not long before she wants him deeper, though, and a thought occurs to her as she pulls back to look at him.

Bringing a hand down to hold the condom, Karen lifts her hips enough that he slides out of her.

“Sit up, Frank. Back against the headboard.”

He complies, and she grabs a pillow to put behind him.

When Karen straddles him again, though, she doesn’t sink down on him right away. Up on her knees, she’s a head taller than him, and Karen curls her hands around the back of his neck, and directs his mouth to her chest.

He goes for her left breast like he’s fucking drowning, his arms wrapping tight around her, and she smiles down at him as his eyes close. Drags her fingernails over his scalp. She lets her back arch away from him, supported by his strong hold, and Frank leans forward after her, laving his tongue over her nipple, kissing across her cleavage.

He’s beautiful like this, his face completely relaxed, except for where he’s suckling at her.

God, she loves him. She could look at his face every day for the rest of her life.

When she slides one hand up his chest and wraps it around his throat, it’s to push him back—his skull makes a soft _thunk_ against her headboard, and he looks up at her.

Her knees are starting to hurt.

“Frank,” she says, under her breath.

His eyes are glazed over, his Adam’s apple bobbing under her palm. “Yes, Karen.”

“Are you still hard for me?”

Frank nods. “Yes, Karen.”

“Good,” she says, and kisses him, slow. “I want you inside me again.”

One of his hands leaves her waist, then, and tucks between her legs to grasp himself. With some maneuvering, they find the right angle, and she slides home in one long movement.

Frank whimpers.

With one hand at the top of the headboard and the other around Frank’s throat, she rises and falls on him again.

She’s drying out a little, getting too sensitive for this, but it’s not bad enough to stop. Both his arms are around her again, and maybe that’s strange when her hand is gripping his throat, but she likes it, she loves how solid he is, inside her, around her—and she considers letting go of the headboard to touch herself again, but it’s Frank’s turn.

She speeds up on him, and it doesn’t take long for the first ask.

“Permission to come, Karen,” he rasps out.

Something about the phrasing takes her by surprise, but it really shouldn’t have—he’s a Marine, after all.

“Permission _denied_ , Frank. I’m not done yet.”

He makes a noise, low in his throat. She straightens her thumb, forcing his chin up, and kisses him.

“Hold on, Frank. I know you can.”

“Yes, Karen.”

She takes him deep for the next few thrusts, as slow as she can stand. Letting go of the headboard, she uses her hand on his throat for all of her balance and leverage, and nuzzles into his cheek on her way down his cock.

His eyes are welling up when he asks again. “Permission to come, please, Karen.”

“Not yet, Frank,” she says in his ear.

Screwing his eyes shut, Frank cries out through his teeth in frustration. She works him over for maybe—it’s not even ten seconds—before he’s asking for a third time, desperate and panting. “ _Permissiontocome_ , Karen!”

She doesn’t have a chance to answer him. He presses his face into her neck and shudders.

“I’m _sorry_ , fuck—” Frank says, his voice breaking, before he’s even done coming. “I’m sorry, Karen, please, I tried—”

He fucking sobs. He may as well have shouted _red_. Frank covers his face with one shaking hand, and Karen knows immediately that she’s the one who fucked this up. That she shouldn’t have pushed him so far.

She slides off of him, and removes the condom, as quickly as she can.

“Frank, look at me,” she says, taking his face gently in her hands, rubbing her thumbs into his beard.

He opens his eyes—his face is all red, he’s out of breath. The power he’d handed her was _delicious_ , he trusted her and bent so beautifully. She’d forgotten that Frank was a man that could break.

He wasn’t supposed to be invincible here. This wasn’t a warzone. It was her _bed_.

“Frank, it’s okay. You’re so good. It was my fault, not yours.” Karen sighs, and tips her forehead against his. “You asked like you were supposed to. You were perfect, I promise.”

Frank sniffs, his hands dragging down her arms to her elbows.

“You were perfect,” Karen repeats. “I’m the one who needs to be sorry.”

 

They get to the bathroom after a few minutes—Karen’s unsteady on her feet after being on her knees so long, but she redoes her ponytail and gets them both in the shower. Lets him stand in the spray.

Frank’s still breathing hard, but he’s not crying anymore. He responds to her touch when she lathers him up, puts his hands out for body wash when she holds up the bottle. He rubs his hands together and works the suds over Karen’s stomach, drags it up her ribcage and down to the inside of her thighs.

He fills his cupped hands with water, and rinses her.

“I never want to disappoint you,” he says, just over the sound of the spray.

Karen’s heart sinks, and she wraps her arms around him, as tight as she can. “You _haven’t_ , Frank. You haven’t.” She pulls back to see his face, and brings her hands flush with his wet cheeks. “This was a learning experience, not a failing, okay?”

His mouth is a thin line, but he nods.

Karen smiles, and tucks some of his dripping hair out of his face. “Do you have any goddamn clue how much I love you?”

Frank’s eyes go wide. She stares back at him, with her mouth open. This may not be the best time, but there’s no way she’s taking it back.

He turns around, and shuts off the shower.

 

They get dressed quietly, Frank in his boxers and nothing else, and Karen in a t-shirt that hits the top of her thighs.

She digs through her fridge for sandwich fixings because it’s half-past eight. Frank asks if he can help, so she pushes him into a chair at her kitchen island and tells him not to let the toast burn. Puts a glass of water in front of him, and tells him to drink.

She’s heartened by what he had chosen to wear, like if Frank thought he would leave after this, if he didn’t love her back, maybe he would have put on pants and a shirt, made a statement with how much of his skin is available to her.

Or maybe he’s just out of it. Maybe he’s cold, and she should have suggested he wear something else. He seems okay, though. Quiet’s normal for him. But Karen still feels guilty and selfish, and like she’s fucking things up already.

She takes down two plates from a cabinet and focuses on the food.

There aren’t a lot of options—she doesn’t ask Frank what he wants, just slaps together some Muenster and ham, with mayo and some drier greens from a bag that’s been in her fridge too long.

Cut in half diagonally, potato chips on the side, because you can’t take the diner out of the girl.

Frank smiles when she puts the plate in front of him. “Thank you, Karen.”

She sits down next to him with her own plate. She’s fucking hungry, the tamales she got from a cart at noon weren’t enough, but the twisted feeling in her gut is one hundred percent Frank.

She takes a bite, and that’s when he turns to her.

“Did you mean it?” he asks.

Karen’s mouth is full. She makes a noise between a snort and a cough, and lifts a hand to cover it.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly, as Karen swallows.

She nods, running her tongue over her teeth. “Yes, I meant it, Frank,” she says, averting her eyes to her sandwich. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“Do… do you not want me to?”

“No—I mean, of, of course,” she says, flailing with her hands, looking back. “Say what you want.”

Frank puts his elbow on the counter, and turns in his seat to face her. “I’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s a normal thing to say.

A smile breaks across her face.

 

Frank helps her change the sheets when they get back into the bedroom. She hasn’t done it with four hands since she was a kid.

He makes hospital corners on his side, and Karen tries her best.

They get under the covers, and his hands push the hem of her t-shirt up, and she pulls it over her head before pulling Frank in to lay on top of her. His waist settles between her legs easily, and Frank’s thumb swipes over her closest nipple before his eager mouth wraps around it.

She runs her hands up and down his spine, watching with satisfaction and a lot of relief, as Frank’s eyes fall closed, as he radiates contentment in her bed again.

When she digs her fingers into his hair, Frank groans into her skin.

She has to stop him eventually, though. Luckily, he _likes_ having his hair pulled, and she tugs him right into a kiss.

His hips raise up, then, too—he’s hard as a fucking rock when he rubs against her.

Karen grins into his mouth when the kiss breaks. “You _do_ have a nice dick,” she says.

Frank laughs. “Ya think so?”

“Oh yeah,” she says, nodding. “Too much to take again tonight, but. We could figure something out, if you wanted to go again.”

Frank raises his eyebrows. “I mean—what did you have in mind, Miss Page?”

She draws her fingers down his cheek, and Frank turns into them, kissing her thumb when she brushes it over his mouth. His oral fixation might be mutual.

“I’m gonna suck it,” she says, barely a whisper against his lips. “On your back, Frank.”

He flips right over, before tugging his boxers down over his thighs, and kicking them off the bed. Karen smiles as she scoots down to lay on her side by Frank’s hip.

“Do you want rules?” She asks, as she wraps her hand around him, and twists her wrist slow.

Frank nods. “Please.”

“All right,” she says. She’ll give him something he can’t fail at. “You can come anytime you want, but I want to hear everything, don’t hold back.”

At Frank’s nod, Karen rests her head on his stomach, and takes the head of his cock into her mouth. Swirls her tongue and sucks.

He groans. “Christ, Karen. You’re fucking unbelievable.”

 _Good boy_. She’ll reward him.

 

When Karen wakes up, light is streaming in through the crack in her curtains, and Frank is next to her, staring up at the ceiling.

She smiles. “Hey.”

He looks at her, and turns onto his side, leans in to kiss her. “Morning.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, and Frank nods. Karen lifts a hand to his neck, lets it drift up into his hair. “I’m still sorry,” she says. “I didn’t listen, I ruined that for you, last night.”

Frank shakes his head. “Karen, no—I mean, up until then, you were a _natural_. And I have to learn to ask _before_ I’m desperate.”

Karen raises an eyebrow. “A natural?”

He nods, and then snorts, and closes his eyes. “If only Morty Bennett could see me now.”

“What?”

Frank cringes, and Karen lifts her hand away as he rolls onto his back. “I was just, before you woke up, I was thinkin’ about this total scumbag of a colonel,” Frank says, and reaches back for her hand, curls their fingers together over his chest. “He was in deep with Schoonover, he knew why my family was murdered—and David and I, we infiltrated Fort Byron to get to him, we needed to clone his phone, right. He’d have information we needed.”

She’s never heard this story. He’s rubbing his thumb over her skin.  

“So I get inside, David’s directing me with all his spy tech shit. And when I showed up in his office, there was a woman there in black latex, a candlelit dinner all set up, and there was Morty, bent over his own desk, with a fuckin’ ball gag in his mouth. I’d interrupted his fuckin’ date.”

Karen presses her other hand to her mouth. “Oh, my god.”

Frank smirks, and shakes his head. “Yeah, I smacked him around a little bit until he said what I needed him to. He didn’t like that so much.”

Karen smiles. “What happened?”

“They were expecting me—well, Morty wasn’t, obviously. But it sounded like she’d been prepped. Russo’s guys came in, and I killed ‘em and got out of there.” His face falls, and he cringes again. “Probably, uh—she’s probably dead. Not by my hand, but. Can’t imagine Russo woulda let her walk away.”

It’s not exactly a surprise, but sometimes she forgets. Frank doesn’t talk about this stuff like it’s a nightmare in the middle of an otherwise normal life. It _is_ his normal, no matter how he feels about it, no matter how much he would change if he could.

“It wasn’t exactly something I was excited to have in common with him, y’know, being a sub.”

She tilts her head to the side, about to tell him there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but Frank’s wearing a kind of sly expression, his smile crooked, and Karen can tell that’s not where he’s going with it.

Frank sighs, and the smirk falls. “I know you’ve been wondering how much of this I’ve done before.”

Karen nods, cautiously, and then with more confidence. “Yes.”

“You wanna hear this? About me and Maria?”

She nods again, letting go of his hand and curling both of hers around the inside of his elbow instead. “It’s important.”

Frank turns his face back towards the ceiling. “I—well, even early on, I had a hard time coming back from deployment. Everything was so structured, when I was away from home, and suddenly being able to do anything I wanted. Whenever I wanted. Maria, she—grounded me. She used to blindfold me, sometimes. I don’t know how, but it helped me focus on her.”

Karen smashes down the little twinge of jealousy in her heart—if Frank can’t talk about this with her, he might never say it again.

“She wasn’t really into it, though. Maria—she was a fuckin’ strong woman, generous, and she indulged me in the bedroom, but. I mean, it wasn’t the kind of sex we were having before we got married. Sometimes I thought she would have been happier if it were the other way around, y’know. Look at the man she married. And it was hard for her to do that for me and juggle two kids. She had enough responsibility. Her life already wasn’t really hers, y’know? Lisa and Frank Jr. demanded _so_ much energy, and I couldn’t just take over when I came home, had to relearn everybody’s schedules—felt like a fucking idiot, half the time.”

Like a fist, it hits her. Karen’s never heard Maria’s voice, but she can picture the stance perfectly, in a fit of frustration telling Frank, a man who is gone for several months out of every year, “I don’t have _three_ children!”

Karen presses her forehead into his shoulder.

“She even, uh, we went to one of those sex clubs once, but I didn’t like all the eyes watching.”

“I can’t imagine you would,” she says, and feels herself smile. Karen looks up at him. “Did anyone know?”

“Who—men I served with?” Chuckling, Frank shakes his head. “Just Curtis, actually. He probably held too many of our unit’s secrets. Curse of an open heart, I guess. Bill never woulda let me hear the end of it.”

He turns onto his side toward her, lifts his hand to her chin.

“Wasn’t anybody’s business. Never felt quite like this, though.”

He’d called Karen a natural, and it can only mean that Maria _wasn’t_ —she hopes to god he won’t directly compare them. Something about it just feels shitty.

He’s smiling when he kisses her.

 

A bell rings over the door when they enter the diner, a few minutes after nine. It’s a hole-in-the-wall in Astoria, she’s never been, but Frank had talked it up in the car. They seat themselves in a booth by the window.

A young waitress comes over to take their drink orders, and they both order coffee, no surprise there. The place isn’t as packed as she might have expected for a Saturday morning—the neon sign by the front door said they serve breakfast all day. Half the menu’s Filipino food.

The waitress is back after a minute with two mismatched mugs, and fills them from a carafe. Karen and Frank smile and thank her in unison.

Frank’s hood is down. He turns the menu over and lifts his coffee to his lips.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said all that,” Frank says. “It’s different, I’m different, now.”

“What do you mean?”

He makes a face. “It’s the past, Karen. I can’t relate to that guy any more than he can relate to me. And I never want you to feel like—” Frank stops, and looks down.

“What?”

He sighs, meeting her eyes again. “I love you,” he says. “It’s not about what kind of sex we have. I loved you before we ever started this, and I’m here until you’re sick of me.”

One side of her mouth pulls up. “Good.” She nods down at the menu. “What are you gonna get?”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout that corned beef hash,” he says.

“Let’s have Curtis over for dinner this week. He can bring Scrabble and a salad.”

Frank smiles at her. “Yes, Karen.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://glycerineclown.tumblr.com), as always. This fic is rebloggable [here](http://glycerineclown.tumblr.com/post/179881969558/permission-frank-castlekaren-page), if you're so inclined! ♥


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